### Chapter 3
A face I would know even if it were burned to ash.
My father's mistress. Vera Baxter.
She was dressed in custom Louis Vuitton, the bracelet on her wrist and the necklace at her throat all limited-edition pieces. Her well-kept face was as polished as ever, barely changed in over twenty years.
Her gaze finally settled on my stomach. Her mouth curled, and she smiled with cheap contempt.
"So you're the boss of the Youngs? The woman who got herself knocked up before marriage. No shame at all."
Yuki shot up out of her chair, ready to tear into her. I pressed her back down.
Vera dragged over the chair beside me, crossed her legs, and sat like she was here to inspect her own territory.
"I'd like to see just how much nerve you've got, turning down my daughter."
I smiled and took my time before I lifted my eyes.
"Mrs. Baxter, I never expected to hear the word 'shame' come out of your mouth. I can tell you've had a very comfortable life all these years."
Her expression shifted.
"What did you say?"
She sat there with a sour face, sizing me up for a long moment.
Clearly, she didn't recognize me.
The year I turned seven, she was the one who talked Frank Barrett into throwing me into the orphanage.
That winter was bitterly cold. The bed was broken, the blanket thin as paper, and I often lay awake shivering. The staff gave us one meal a day, cold and half-spoiled. The other children ganged up on me, pulled my hair, pinched my arms, locked me in the bathroom the whole night through.
I curled up in a corner and burned with fever, crying out for my father until I passed out. No one ever came.
A few days later, Vera turned up in the director's office. I pressed myself against the windowsill and watched her push a thick envelope across the desk.
"Make sure that little brat suffers as much as possible. Do as I say, and you'll get ten thousand a month, every month. Not a cent short."
After that, my meals got smaller and the beatings got worse. And I never called out for my father again.
Now I was the chairwoman of a multi-billion-dollar empire. How could she ever connect this young, beautiful woman in front of her to that scrawny, pitiful girl?
I leaned back in my chair and slowly curved my lips.
"So what does Mrs. Baxter want with me?"
"Since you're calling me Mrs. Baxter, then you know exactly where I stand."
She arrogantly picked up the red wine on the table, not bothering to ask whose it was, and swirled it as if it were hers.
"My Serena is a Barrett heiress. Her even looking twice at your little company is doing you a favor."
"She's got real talent, of course, but she's still new. Give her a supervisor's position for now, and in a few months bumping her up to manager should be about right."
She said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world, like telling her housekeeper what to buy at the market tomorrow.
It made me laugh.
"And what exactly is she worth?"
The elegance cracked off her face in an instant. "What did you say?!"
I folded my arms, every word clear.
"I said Serena Barrett isn't even fit to fetch my shoes."
Crack.
The glass in Vera's hand hit the floor, red wine splashing everywhere.
She stood up, her sharp nails almost jabbing into my face.
"You ungrateful little thing! You think my husband couldn't crush you with one hand?"
"If he finds out you insulted his daughter, he'll make you pay for it, and then some!"
I looked at her furious, ugly face and suddenly wondered whether she'd worn this same vicious, hideous expression the day she ran my mother down, over twenty years ago.
"Go ahead and try."
My nails dug into my palm. I tipped my chin toward the two waiters at the door. "Throw her out."
They moved in at once, taking her by both arms and hauling her toward the exit. "Please forgive us. Ms. Young is our SVIP guest. No one can afford to offend her."
"How dare you! Do you know who I am!"
Vera was beside herself. Everywhere she'd ever gone in her life, she'd been fawned over and catered to. When had anyone ever thrown her out?
